


Her Skin

by pennythepants



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-15
Updated: 2011-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-04 20:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennythepants/pseuds/pennythepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia Dunham doesn't wear dresses. [Set after 3.11]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Skin

She finds  _her_  dress in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the wardrobe.

It had been a long day, and she had just stepped out of the shower, padding across the floor barefoot, blonde hair clinging to her hot, flushed skin.

The sight of it freezes her to the spot. She wonders how she missed it before.

_Her_  dress. Olivia Dunham doesn't wear dresses. In a furious movement, she bends down and picks it up, determined to get rid of it-rip it to shreds, burn it, erase its existence from her apartment, her life-but the feel of the fabric against her skin stops her mid-thought.

White lace. Olivia Dunham doesn't wear lace. She stands there, hair dripping onto the floor, for a long moment, mesmerized by it. And then she looks at herself in the mirror, and she can't help but wonder. What if Olivia Dunham wore dresses? What if Olivia Dunham wore lace? After all, wasn't that the Olivia Dunham he wanted?

_She's... She's much quicker with a smile... And less... I don't know, less intense, maybe._

She drops the towel, and pulls the dress over her head, taking in the feel of it against her naked skin. It fits her perfectly, of course it would, and as she runs her hands across her stomach, her hips, she thinks,  _I can do this_. She can wear dresses, she can wear lace.

This is the Olivia he wants. This is the Olivia he loves. Except that it's not. She isn't this Olivia,  _his_  Olivia, and she can wear dresses, and she can wear lace, but she will never be  _quick with a smile_ , she will never be  _less intense_.

She rips the dress off her body as if it was contaminated with something deadly, and pulls it apart with her bare hands, relishing the quiet tearing sounds. And when the dress is nothing more than rags, she makes her way to her bedroom window and tosses it outside.

She stands there naked, watching as the pieces scatter and float down the street. She should feel better now, but she doesn't. Because she knows that even if she destroys one thousand dresses, nothing changes.

When he looked at her, he saw  _her,_  and when they touched it was  _her_  skin he felt.


End file.
